CHAPTER XXII THE ARMORED HORSE
As for Jeanne, once more dressed as Pierre and feeling like just no oneat all, she had gone wandering away into the shadows of the orchestrafloor, when suddenly she started. Someone had touched her arm.
Until this moment she had quite forgotten the lone auditor seated therein the dark. Now as she bent low to look into that person's face shestarted again as a name came to her lips.
"Rosemary Robinson!"
"It is I," Rosemary whispered. "I saw it all, Pierre." She held Jeanne'shand in a warm grasp. "You were wonderful! Simply magnificent! And thedirector. He was beastly!"
"No! No!" Jeanne protested. "He was but doing his duty."
"This," Rosemary replied slowly, "may be true. But for all that you are amarvelous 'Juggler of Notre Dame.' And it is too bad he found out.
"But come!" she whispered eagerly, springing to her feet. "Why weep whenthere is so much to be glad about? Let us go exploring!
"My father," she explained, "has done much for this place. I have thekeys to every room. There are many mysteries. You shall see some ofthem."
Seizing Jeanne's hand, she led the way along a corridor, down two gloomyflights of stairs and at last into a vast place where only here and therea light burned dimly.
They were now deep down below the level of the street. The roar andthunder of traffic came to them only as a subdued rumble of some gianttalking in his sleep.
The room was immense. Shadows were everywhere, shadows and grotesqueforms.
"Where are we?" Jeanne asked, scarcely able to repress a desire to flee.
"It is one of the property rooms of the Opera House. What will you have?"Rosemary laughed low and deep. "Only ask for it. You will find it here.All these things are used at some time or another in the differentoperas."
As Jeanne's eyes became accustomed to the pale half-light, she realizedthat this must be nearly true. In a corner, piled tight in great darksections, was a miniature mountain. Standing on edge, but spilling noneof its make-believe water, was a pond where swans were wont to float.
A little way apart were the swans, resting on great heaps of grass thatdid not wither and flowers that did not die.
In a distant corner stood a great gray castle. Someone had set it up,perhaps to make sure that it was all intact, then had left it standing.
"What a place for mystery!" Jeanne exclaimed.
"Yes, and listen! Do you hear it?"
"Hear what?"
"The river. We are far below the river. Listen. Do you not hear itflowing?"
"I hear only the rumble of traffic."
"Perhaps I only imagine it, but always when I visit this place I seem tohear the river rushing by. And always I think, 'What if the walls shouldcrumble?'"
"But they will not crumble."
"We shall hope not.
"But see." The rich girl's mood changed. "Here is a charger! Let us mountand ride!"
She sprang toward a tall object completely covered by a white cloth. Whenthe cloth had been dragged off, a great steed all clad in glitteringarmor stood before them.
"Come!" Rosemary's voice rose high. "Here we are! You are a brave knight.I am a defenseless lady. Give me your hand. Help me to mount behind you.Then I will cling to you while we ride through some deep, dark forestwhere there are dragons and cross-bowmen and all sorts of terrifyingperils."
Joining her in this spirit of make-believe, Jeanne assisted her to theback of the inanimate charger.
Having touched some secret button, Rosemary set the charger in motion.They were riding now. Swaying from side to side, rising, falling, theyseemed indeed to be passing through some dark and doleful place. AsJeanne closed her eyes the illusion became quite complete. As she feltRosemary clinging to her as she might cling to some gallant knight, sheforgot for the time that she was Petite Jeanne and that she had suffereda dire disappointment.
"I am Pierre!" she whispered to herself. "I am a brave knight. Rosemaryloves me."
The disquieting effect of this last thought awakened her to the realitiesof life. Perhaps, after all, Rosemary did love her a little as Pierre. Ifthis were true--
Sliding off the steed, then lifting Rosemary to the floor, she exclaimed:
"Come! Over yonder is a castle. Let us see who is at home over there."
Soon enough she was to see.
The castle was, as all stage castles are, a mere shell; very beautifuland grand on the outside, a hollow echo within. For all that, the twoyouthful adventurers found a certain joy in visiting that castle. Therewas a rough stairway leading up through great empty spaces within to abroad, iron-railed balcony. From this balcony, on more than one night, anopera lover had leaned forth to sing songs of high enchantment, luringforth a hidden lover.
They climbed the stairs. Then Petite Jeanne, caught by the spell of theplace, leaned far out of the window and burst into song, a wild gypsyserenade.
Rosemary was leaning back among the rafters, drinking in the sweetmystery of life that was all about her, when of a sudden the Frenchgirl's song broke off. Her face went white for an instant as she swayedthere and must surely have fallen had not Rosemary caught her.
"Wha--what is it?" she whispered hoarsely.
For a space of seconds there came no answer, then a low whisper:
"Those eyes! I saw them. Those evil eyes. Back of the mountain. Theyglared at me."
"Eyes?"
"The dark-faced man. He--he frightens me! The way out! We must find it!"
Roused by her companion's fears, Rosemary led the way on tiptoe down thestairs. Still in silence they crossed the broad emptiness of the castle,came to a rear door, tried it, felt it yield to their touch, and passedthrough, only to hear the intruder come racing down the stairs.
"He--he did not see us!" Rosemary panted. "For now we are safe.This--come this way!"
She crowded her way between a stairway lying upon its side and a propertyporch. Jeanne, whose heart was beating a tattoo against her ribs,followed in silence.
"What a brave knight I am!" she told herself, and smiled in spite of herdeathly fears.
"The way out," Rosemary whispered over her shoulder. "If I only can findthat!"
A sound, from somewhere behind, startled them into renewed effort.
Passing through a low forest of property trees, they crossed a narrowbare space to find themselves confronted by a more formidable forest ofchairs and tables. Chairs of all sorts, with feet on the floor or high inair, blocked their way.
As Rosemary attempted to creep between two great piles, one of thesetoppled to the floor with a resounding crash.
"Come!" Her tone was near despair. "We must find the way out!"
As for Jeanne, she was rapidly regaining her composure. This was not theonly time she had been lost in an Opera House. The Paris Opera had onceheld her a prisoner.
"Yes, yes. The way out!" She took the lead. "I think I see a light, atiny red light."
For a second she hesitated. What was this light? Was it held in the handof the unwelcome stranger? Was it an "Exit" light?
"It's the way out!" she exulted. A quick turn, a sharp cry and she wentcrashing forward. Some object had lain in her path. She had stumbled uponit in the dark.
What was it? This did not matter. All that mattered were Rosemary and theway out.
Where was Rosemary? Leaping to her feet, she glanced wildly about. A movefrom behind demoralized her. One more wild dash and she was beneath thatred light. Before her was a door. And at that door, pressing the knob,was Rosemary.
Next instant they had crowded through that door.
But where were they? Narrow walls hemmed them in on every side.
"It's a trap!" Rosemary moaned.
Not so Jeanne. She pressed a button. They were in a French elevator. Theywent up.
Up, up they glided. The light of a door came, then faded, then anotherand yet another.
In consternation lest they crash at the top, Je
anne pressed a secondbutton. They came to a sudden halt. A light shone above them. A second,slower upward glide and they were before still another door. The doorswung open. Still filled with wild panic, they rushed into a room whereall was dark, and lost themselves in a perfect labyrinth where costumesby hundreds hung in rows.
Crowded together, shoulder to shoulder, with scarcely room to breathe,they stood there panting, waiting, listening.
Slowly their blood cooled. No sound came to their waiting ears. StillJeanne felt Rosemary's heart beating wildly.
"To her I am a knight," she thought. "I am Pierre."
Then a thought struck her all of a heap. "Perhaps I am not Pierre to her.She may suspect. Yes, she may know!" A cold chill gripped her heart. "Ifshe finds out, what an impostor she will believe me to be!
"And yet," she thought more calmly, "I have meant no wrong. I only wantedto be near the opera, to be ready for any great good fortune that mightbefall me.
"Besides, how could she know? Who would tell her? The lady in black? Buthow could she know? No! No! My secret is safe.
"Come!" she whispered a moment later, "I think we have escaped from thosemost terrible eyes."
Creeping out, they made their way along a corridor that welcomed themwith ever-increasing brightness until they stood before a passengerelevator. A moment later they stood in the clear bright light of lateautumn afternoon.
Throwing back her chest, the little French girl, who for a moment wasPierre, drank in three deep breaths, then uttered a long-drawn:
"Wh-e-w!"
"This," said Rosemary, extending her hand as she might had she beenleaving a party, "has been delightful. So perfectly wonderful. Let's doit again sometime.
"One more thing!" She whispered this. "They have never found my pearls.But it really does not matter, at least not very much. What are pearlsamong friends?"
Before Petite Jeanne could recover from her surprise she was gone.
"I suppose," she sighed as she turned to go on her way, "that some peoplehave many terrible adventures and want none, and some have none but wantmany. What a crazy, upside-down world this is, after all."
She was well on her way home when a question, coming into her mind withthe force of a blow, left her stunned.
"Why did Rosemary say: 'The pearls have not been found. It does notmatter?'
"Does she believe I took the pearls?" she asked herself, when she hadpartially recovered her poise. "And was she telling me I might keep them?
"How absurd! And yet, what did she mean?
"And, after all, how could she help believing that I took them? I ranaway. There has been no explanation. Unless--unless she knows that I amPetite Jeanne and not Pierre! And how could she know?"
That night as, once more playing the role of Pierre, she entered theboxes, she found Jaeger, the detective, in his place. And, lurking deepin the shadows was the lady in black. She shuddered anew.